If You Aren't Rich You Should Always

Not Much Music Left Inside Us For Life To Dance To. Our Youth Has Gone To The Ends Of The Earth To Die In The Silence Of The Truth. And Where, I Ask You, Can A Man Escape To, When He Hasn't Enough Madness Left Inside Him? The Truth Is An Endless Death Agony. The Truth Is Death. You Have To Choose: Death Or Lies. I've Never Been Able To Kill Myself.

Almost Every Desire A Poor Man Has Is A Punishable Offence.

Reason Died In 1914, November 1914 ... After That Everybody Began To Rave.

Maybe I'd Never See Him Again... Maybe He'd Gone For Good... Swallowed Up, Body And Soul, In The Kind Of Stories You Hear About... Ah, It's An Awful Thing... And Being Young Doesn't Help Any... When You Notice For The First Time... The Way You Lose People As You Go Along ... The Buddies You'll Never See Again... Never Again... When You Notice That They've Disappeared Like Dreams... That It's All Over... Finished... That You Too Will Get Lost Someday... A Long Way Off But Inevitably... In The Awful Torrent Of Things And People... Of The Days And Shapes... That Pass... That Never Stop.

Man Hardly Comes In More Than Two Varieties, Wherever He Is, Whatever He Does: Workers And Pimps ... They're Either One Or The Other! ... And Inventors, The Worst Kind Of Jobholder! ... They Stand Condemned! ... The Writer Who Doesn't Pimp Along, Peacefully Plagiarizing, Who Doesn't Pump Out The Pop Stuff, He's Had It! ... Everybody Hates Him!